


Alexandrite

by MissWia



Series: 366 Days of Writing [6]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canonical Character Death, F/F, F/M, Genderfluid Characters, Homosexuality, Incest, M/M, Magic, Multi, Platonic Relationships, Underage - Freeform, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-11 17:54:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7063849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissWia/pseuds/MissWia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A thousand stories told in a thousand ways.</p><p>Month 6 of my 366 Days of Writing series. Tags will be added as needed. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fili/Sigrid

It was a beautiful day for a wedding.

That was Sigrid’s thought as she managed to sneak away from her lady’s maids and attendants for a bit of peace. The garden she hid away in was in full bloom, with flowers of all colors and shapes spread out in a quilt of fantastic color. The air held the sweetness of their petals and the sun gently brushed them with her warm rays. Yes, a wonderful day for a wedding.

Her wedding.

A giddy smile bloomed across her face, as bright and cheery as the flowers around her. She hadn’t been waiting for this day for a long time now and it had finally arrived. She was so happy she felt that she would burst.

“Shouldn’t you be getting your corset tightened or your feet washed,” a voice teasingly spoke behind her. With a grin she turned to see Fili approaching her, a playful smile on his bearded face. Her own smile turned into a mockingly stern look.

“You cannot see me now! It’s bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony,” she scolded, though she couldn’t stop the corners of her mouth from twitching.

“A silly superstition. A future king has a right to see his future queen, damn the Fates,” he exclaimed, stopping in front of her and offering her his hands. She gladly took them and let herself be pulled up from the bench she was sitting on.

Fili was tall for a dwarf, but she was tall for a woman. He had to gaze up to look her in the eye, something he often claimed was fitting. After all, one had to look to the sky to see the sun and Sigrid was his sun.

“You have never looked more beautiful,” he confessed, giving her the softest look she had ever seen.

The young woman blushed, a pleased smile on her face. She had chosen her emerald dress, despite many insisting she wear the blue of the House of Durin. But green was Fili’s color. It was on his banners, his personal seal, and in his eyes. By wearing green on this day, their wedding day, she was making a statement far greater than any words. She may be marrying into the Hosue of Durin, the future queen of Erebor, but first and foremost she was marrying Fili, a dwarf that she loved.

“I’m glad you like it,” she replied, looking at him with such love in her eyes. Fili gentle squeezed her hands, communicating all his thoughts in that simple gesture. He knew why she was wearing green and treasured her gesture more than any gem or gold.

“Though your hair isn’t braided yet.”

She shook her head, her loose golden hair falling about her shoulders.

“They couldn’t decide on a style and were arguing over it when I snuck away. Hopefully they will decide something before the ceremony,” she replied with an amused grin. Fili grinned with her, shaking his head at the foolishness of her attendants.

“Come with me.” He gentle tugged her to a small patch of grass surrounded by white flowers and ivy. He pulled her down so they were seated together.

“I shall do your hair. To show everyone my love for you,” he declared, his strong hands gentle combing through her hair and parting the strands. She put up to fight, simply closing her eyes and getting lost in the sensation of him softly tugging and twisting at her scalp. It was comforting.

“There,” he said at last, tying off the last of his braids. “I’m done.”

Sigrid opened her eyes and let her hands wander across her scalp. To her surprise she felt flowers woven between the braids. Fili gave her a shy smile.

“Bilbo told me these flowers mean Eternal Love,” he explained, holding up the little white flower that was planted around them. “Paired with the ivy it shows the whole world that my love for you is steadfast and loyal.”

Sigrid felt her heart quicken behind her ribs, so moved by his confession.

There were many who thought this marriage was simply a matter of an alliance between Erebor and Dale, a convenience rather than an actual desire. They were wrong though.

The love she had for Fili was only matched by the love he had for her. Their titles as royalty meant nothing to them, just their vows to each other.

With a tears of joy gathering at her eyes, she leaned forward a placed a chaste kiss against the prince’s lips. When she parted, she smiled at the delightfully dazed look on her betrothed’s face.

“I love you, Fili, son of Vili. And I look forward to this day ending so that we may finally call each other husband and wife.”

Fili grinned, taking her hand in his.

They sat in the garden together for a while longer, neither feeling the need to rush away anytime soon. It was perfect.


	2. Bilbo/Thorin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo was a heartsmith and Thorin needed his heart fixed.

His shop was a tiny, unassuming thing that was nestled between far grander stores. Most people overlooked it as they walked down the street, their eyes drawn to the brighter, more extravagant displays. Bilbo didn’t mind. Those that needed his shop found it, in their own time. He only had to wait.

The bell above his front door jingled softly, alerting him of a new customer. Looking up from his book, he looked at the stranger with a soft smile on his face.

“Welcome to Bag-End. How may I help you today?”

The man, with hair that was darker than the night sky and had streaks of sliver running through it, slowly made his way to the counter. His face was heavily lined and his eyes held a depth that had Bilbo shuddering softly. This man had been through a great deal of pain.

The customer gently laid a worn bag on his counter, pushing it softly toward Bilbo.

“I’m in need of a Heartsmith, and I was told you were the best,” he explained. His voice was a deep as his eyes and filled with the same grief. It had been a long time since Bilbo had seen someone so torn.

“Of course, sir,” he replied softly, sympathetically. “Let me see what needs to be done.”

He carefully untied the string holding the bag shut and pulled back the fabric. Years of practice kept him from gasping out right, but it was a close thing.

The heart before him was a pitiful, mangled mess. The color was no longer a vivid red, but a washed out pink, borderline grey. There were thick, ropey scars surrounding it, like it had been wrapped tightly in thorns and left in agony. Some pieces were missing entirely, leaving a void behind that couldn’t easily be replaced.

Carefully he pulled it out the bag, cradling it with all the care you gave a newborn. Tentatively he sent his magic into the heart, testing the strength there. He was surprised to find out strong it was, despite it’s horrid appearance. This man, whoever he was, was a fighter and the tragedy he had gone through had only made him stronger. And it was a tragedy. Bilbo could feel it in every weak beat, an agony that drove through him until it was nearly unbearable. Again, only his years of experience saved him from showing his reaction to the customer.

“This heart has been through a lot,” he explained in a somber voice. “Far more than any should have.”

The man sighed, nodding his head in understanding.

“Yes, but can you fix it? It doesn’t have to be perfect. But I need it to love again. Please.”

Bilbo had many people come to him, desperate pleas falling from their lips. None, though, as desperate as this.

“Why,” he asked, honestly curious. He wanted to know what kind of thing made a man like this desperate to love again. Love is what brought his heart to the state it was in now. Why want more?

The man gave him a soft smile.

“My nephew was born last week,” he answered, and in response the heart in Bilbo’s hand beat strongly. “His name is Fili and he is the most perfect thing I have ever seen. I want him to have everything in the world, especially love. I want to give him that.”

Bilbo was stunned. The words were honest and having a profound effect on the heart. He saw the color begin to brighten and the scars didn’t seem as tight anymore. Perhaps there was hope yet?

“What’s your name?”

The stranger looked up at him in surprise.

“Thorin.”

Bilbo smiled gently at him, heart cradled carefully in his hands.

“It will take some time, Thorin, but I will make your heart whole again. I promise.”

Thorin smiled brightly at him, pure relief dancing in his eyes.

“Thank you. You have no idea what this means to me!”

Bilbo shook his head, waving off his thanks.

“No thanks are needed. Come back in a month’s time and I should have it ready.”

The man nodded.

“I’ll be here.”

Bilbo watched as he left his store, a lightness in his step that wasn’t there when he arrived. The curly haired man looked at the heart in his hands. It would be his greatest challenge yet, but he would make sure it was finished. Even if it meant giving pieces of his own heart in return.


	3. Kili/Tauriel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kili was many things, to Tauriel's utter amusement.

Kili, the love of her life, was many things. He was brave, having been a sniper in the war and awarded countless medals because of it. He was kind, taking time out of his day to make sure those around him were happy. He was smart, with not one, but two different degrees, one in advance mathematics and another in physics.

He was a wimp.

“Oh my god! Make it stop, it hurts so bad,” he whined, tears gathering in his eye as he cradled his hand to his body. Tauriel rolled her eyes at the sight.

“It’s really not that bad,” she deadpanned, kneeling down to his level. She tried to grab his hand, but he kept dodging her hands. He shook his head violently, scooting away from her.

“No! You’ll make it hurt even worse! Stop it!”

She sighed, leaning back on her heels to give him space. She shouldn’t be surprised; this was typical Kili behavior whenever he got the slightest bit hurt. He once had a splinter in his toe that freaked him out so badly she had to call not only his brother, but his uncle and cousin as well to help subdue him so she could remove it. It hadn’t even been a very big splinter, just a tiny little thing he got from their old kitchen chair.

His current _injury_ was much the same. She glared at the decorative paper lying beside him on the floor, the pastel border mocking her.

“Oh god! It’s bleeding! I’m going to die!”

“It’s a paper cut, Kili. People don’t die from paper cuts,” she patiently explained, gathering up the cause of their current troubles and placing them on a neat pile on the table. She couldn’t remember why she thought it was a good idea to ask Kili to help her write out thank you cards in the first place. It was a disaster she should have spotted from a mile away!

“You don’t know that,” Kili continued to whine, staring at his finger in horror. A tiny drop of blood clung precariously to his skin, but Tauriel could see the would was already closing. Of course Kili wouldn't focus on that bit. He would remain fixed on the blood he saw and convince himself that this was the end.

“I do know that. You are sooner to die from dragon fire than you are from a paper cut,” she informed, standing up and grabbing the first aid kit she kept nearby. Paper cut or not, he would need a band aid. If only to stop his whining and worrying.

“Dragons don’t exist,” he pouted.

“And people don’t die from paper cuts,” she reiterated with a soft smile, kneeling back in front of him and holding out a brightly colored band aid. Kili reluctantly offered her his finger, squeezing his eyes tightly shut so he didn't have to see the care she was giving it.

Holding in a chuckle, she gently wrapped the cut, careful not to jostle him in any way and hurt him even more. You would think a sniper would have a higher pain tolerance, but unfortunately Kili had all the tolerance of a newborn puppy. That is, none at all.

“There,” she announced with a satisfied smile. “All done.”

Kili peeked one eye opened and then the other, examining her work. Suddenly he thrust his finger out, a determined glint in his eyes. He held his injured finger right before her lips, silently demanding that she finish her job.

With another roll of her eyes and a fond smile, she obligingly placed a sweet kiss to the bandage. Kili’s face light up with joy, all memories of his trauma forgotten.

“Thank you!”

Tauriel sighed, shaking her head.

“You’re welcome.”

Kili was many things, a wimp and a hero, but she wouldn’t change a single bit of him.


	4. Ori/Dwalin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori wasn't used to cold winters.

It was times like these, when the snow was falling in thick fluffy flakes and the temperature gauge was well below freezing, that Ori missed home the most. His hot, sunny, desert of a home.

But he wanted to go to the university with the best program for his degree of choice and the best was Erebor. Cold, hidden in the mountains Erebor. Autumn hadn't been bad, and he was sure summer would be quite lovely. Winter, however, was an absolute nightmare.

He shivered as a particularly strongbox gust of wind hit him, biting through his coat and chilling him to the bone. The snow was quickly accumulating and he felt the wet slush soaking through his shoes. He needed to get back to his dorm, and quickly.

Luckily for him he was almost there. With the last of his strength he trudged through the last of the snow and into his lobby.

The heat was a welcome relief, slowly seeping into his skin as he did his best to brush off the snow before it melted further. Unfortunately it was a losing battle. His shivering became more violent as the ice turned to water and began to soak him thoroughly.

"I take it you're not from around here," a gruff voice spoke. Ori turned and saw the building supervisor, a rough looking man named Dwalin Fundin, eyeing him with ill disguised amusement.

"H-How c-can you tell," he asked, his teeth chattering madly.

"Most locals know to be indoors before a big storm hits and save the casual strolls for spring," he informed. He grabbed a towel from behind the lobby desk and handed to Ori, who gratefully took it and began vigorously drying off his body.

"I-it's my first year here. I'm afraid I d-didn't quite prepare properly for the winter," he ruefully explained, shrugging a shoulder.

Dwalin nodded.

"Another sure sign you aren't a local. Layers are key to surviving the winters here. Thick, warm layers. Not a single long sleeve shirt with a subpar jacket on top," he replied, gesturing to the ensemble Ori was wearing. Ori blushed at his mistake.

"I'm afraid where I come from the most layering we do it a thick pair of socks when you have to wear closed toe shoes. I didn't realize it could get this cold."

Dwalin opened his mouth to say something further, but Ori interrupted it with a loud sneeze.

The man chuckled, much to Ori's embarrassment.

"Sorry about that," he mumbled, rubbing at his nose. He knew this chill was going to get him sick.

"Don't worry about it. You go and sleep. I also wouldn't set an alarm for any classes you have tomorrow. This storm is going to last the night and will make the roads impossible tomorrow morning."

Ori nodded and handed back his used towel. It helped, but he definitely needed to get into dry clothes before he got even worse.

"Thank you, Mr. Dwalin."

The older man nodded.

"You're welcome, Ori. Go get some sleep. I'll see you around."

Ori nodded and headed to his dorm.

It was only as he was getting into bed that he realized Dwalin had said his name. Funny, seeing as he never met him personally before that night. He didn't think much of it though, until the next day when he opened his dorm door to see a nearly wrapped packed sitting just in front of it.

Curious, he opened it and pulled out a thickly knitted scarf. It was beautiful work and long enough to wrap three times around his neck. He pulled the note that was attached to it and read what it said.

_To keep away the chill. I would hate for you to get sick again._

_Dwalin_

A soft smile appeared on his face as he carefully wrapped the gift around his neck. It was the warmest thing he had even worn, keeping the lingering cold far from touching him. Though he wandered if the warmth he was now feeling was from the scarf alone.

Probably not. That thought made his smile grow even more.


	5. Dori/Balin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dori has a bad day.

One of Dori’s strengths (his _many_ strengths, as Balin liked to point out with a smile) was that he had an uncanny ability to shake off a bad day. He could wake up late on a day where he is supposed to be early, with rain pouring when it should sunshine, and have everything in his normal routine and schedule go wrong and still come home with a smile and a simple shrug.

“It is what it is,” he would say, helping himself to a nicely brewed cup of tea. “You can’t change what’s happened and there is no use wallowing in it. Tomorrow will be a new day.” It was really quite inspiring of him.

However, as the old saying goes: everyone has their bad days.

Even Dori.

The morning had started so promising, as well. The usual morning rush hour traffic was surprisingly absent and he made it to work with a whole twenty minutes to spare. He took that time to leisurely browse his emails and have another cup of tea to start his day. By the time nine o’clock rolled around and his work day officially began he was in a rather pleasant mood. It wasn’t until noon that things changed.

He got an email from his higher ups wondering about a case that he should have submitted by now. Dori had thought that strange, because all of his cases were well on schedule but none of them needed to be done for a few more weeks. Thinking they had mistakenly emailed him, he sent a reply saying as such and thought nothing of it for another twenty minutes when suddenly his inbox became flooded with frantic emails from all departments wondering after the same case and why he didn’t have it done yet.

Through the whole mess he was able to piece together the story, which came out to this.

Dori was supposed to be working on a rather important and time sensitive case, however he never got the memo and this was the first time he had heard of any of it. Now they needed him to put everything else on hold and finish the case in question by the deadline tonight or all hell would break lose and though it wasn’t outright said, it was obvious who would take the blame for this all. Dori.

He had no choice but to buckle down and muddle his way through this mess, which he did with all the grace and ease that people had come to associate with Dori. The case was submitted and accepted on time, but Dori was worn and ready for the day to end.

It wasn’t until well after midnight before his got home, his house dark and quiet. Balin was obviously asleep, having learned not to wait up for Dori on the rare days he was running this late. Though the other man would have liked to see his husband after such a long day, he understood. He would kiss him good morning tomorrow and was already planning a day for just themselves this weekend to make up for today.

He made his way into the house, moving as quietly as possible so that he didn't wake up Balin. He was bone tired and ready for bed, but knew he needed to eat something before falling asleep.

He made his way into the kitchen and frowned at the sight of the oven light glowing in the otherwise dark room. Balin never forgot to turn the oven off, so why was it on now? Walking forward, he peeked into the window on the little door and was surprised to see a pan sitting on the middle rack, wrapped in foil.

Grabbing a mitt, he opened it and pulled it out, placing it on the counter. When it was cool enough he pulled back the foil and saw what was inside.

Lasagna, freshly made lasagna. Dori’s favorite.

He smiled as he put two and two together. Balin did this for him, because he knew that Dori would be having a bad day.

That was one of Balin’s many strengths, you see. Knowing when his husband just couldn’t shake a bad day and needed a little extra care. Be it in the form of a warm blanket, a kiss on the cheek, or homemade lasagna. He was always ready to help Dori in anyway he needed.

It was a sweet gesture. So sweet that Dori wouldn’t scold him for leaving the oven unattended.

Pulling out a plate, he served himself a generous slice of the pasta dish, digging in with relish. It wasn’t a bad way to end the day.


	6. Fili/Legolas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orange for joy, purple for forbidden passion, and green for naughty thoughts.

Fili had never been to a hobbit wedding before. Already he could tell it was going to be a lot different to dwarrow celebrations, even the few human ones he attended. For example:

None of them ever required that he weave a crown of flowers!

He grunted in frustration as the bruised foliage fell apart for the third time, landing in a jumbled heap in his lap.

“This is impossible,” he seethed, sweeping up the flowers and trying once again to tie them the way Bilbo had shown him. Twist, cross, pull through, and tie. He was doing everything he was told to but the damned flowers just weren’t holding.

“I don’t understand why we can’t just wear crowns shaped like flowers!”

“To my knowledge hobbits don’t hold much to traditional dwarvish crafting. They much prefer things that grow in the earth and seasons.”

Turning around, he glared at the elf approaching him. Legolas gave him a bland sort of smile, not unfriendly but distant nonetheless. It was a smile he long associated with his kind, with Tauriel being the rare exception.

“But as a dwarf I shouldn’t be held accountable for hobbit traditions,” he shot back, focusing back on the flowers. The stems were so twisted that they were no longer holding the weight of their flowers anymore. He would have to pick more. Again.

“Your soon to be uncle made this request, I’m sure you can suffer through it for the one day.”

Fili rolled his eyes, tossing the ruined flowers away.

“Easy for you to say,” he grumbled, walking to a nearby bush to find some new pieces of greenery. “You don’t have to make these stupid things.”

Legolas’ smile widened slightly, a touch more pleasant than his last. Fili privately noted that it suited him.

“On the contrary, I have already made one myself,” he explained, raising a taunting eyebrow in his direction. “We elves also take great delight in growing things and share this tradition with hobbits. Many of our celebrations involve flower ornamentation of some kind.”

The young dwarf prince glared at him, not appreciating the obvious one-upmanship being thrown his way. Dwarfs were meant to craft things of stone and metal, not leaves and twigs. It was only natural that elves, being the tree-lovers they were, had a more natural hand for flower crowns and the like.

He decided to do the noble thing, though, and ignore the elf, instead focusing on the flowers in the garden. Most of the bushes had been picked clean, not only by him but other dwarves hoping to make Bilbo and Thorin’s day more special by weaving their own crowns. There wasn’t much to work with.

He stopped at a bush with some rather pretty blue flowers, thinking they would look nice with the white ones he spotted earlier. Legolas had other ideas.

“You can’t wear a sign of mourning and passionate love to your uncles’ wedding. People will think you have feelings for one of them,” he scolded, glaring at the blue flowers on the bush. Fili turned to him in surprise. He vaguely remembered Bilbo telling him that flowers had some meaning to them, but didn’t think it could be used to cause offense.

Not wanting to spoil his big day, he decided to shelf his pride and ask for help.

“What do you recommend then?”

Legolas gave him another smile and approached him, pulling a complete crown from behind his back. Fili had no idea where he was hiding it.

The orange flowers were woven together with purple ones, creating a contrast that was simply eye-catching. In-between the flowers were some sort of fern, colored a spring green that matched Fili’s eyes rather well. It was all together lovely.

Legolas gently placed it on his head, brushing away his braids so it would lay just right.

“There,” he said softly, smiling gently down at him. “I do believe this suits you well.”

Fili blinked up at him in confusion, not knowing what brought this all on.

“Where did you get this,” he asked, handing wandering up to brush at the crown.

“I made it. Just now while your back was turned.”

Fili couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, but decided not to push it.

“Thank you,” he said instead, bowing his head slightly. “This means a lot to me. Will you tell me what they mean?”

The elf gave him a mischievous smirk and shook his head.

“No. I think it would be more fun for you to find out yourself.”

With that he walked off, leaving Fili alone, stunned, and very confused.

Not being able to do anything about it though, he returned to his rooms with his new crown. Bilbo, who was taking tea with Kili, nearly choked at the sight of him.

“Fili! Where did you get that crown,” he asked, eyeing it with wonder and a slight blush.

“Legolas gave it to me,” he answered with a shrug, taking it off and examining it closer. “He wouldn’t tell me what it meant though. Said it’s more fun that way.”

Bilbo, his face still red, chuckled weakly.

“Yes. Definitely more fun.”


	7. Thranduil/Bard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June was a hard month for them.

June tended to be a hard month for their little family. It was a month filled with memories that weighed them down in their everyday lives, the pain remembered almost too much to bear. Thranduil doubted they would ever fully get over it.

Bard especially.

He looked out the kitchen window and into the garden. It was raining, water falling from the sky in buckets. Just beyond their little picket fence, in the wild fields beyond, stood a lone figure drenched to the bone. Bard was mourning.

Grabbing his jacket and a large umbrella, Thranduil stepped out of the warm house and into the storm. Dodging the deeper puddles and collecting mud, he made his way to where his husband was.

“You’ll catch a cold,” he scolded softly, bringing the umbrella up so that it covered both him and the dark haired man. Bard looked at him from beneath soaking hair, his grave eyes so deep and full of pain. It broke Thranduil’s heart seeing them.

Bard was a quiet man, choosing his words carefully and timing them just right. His quietness, coupled with his naturally grim face, had many assuming he wasn’t a man prone to much emotions. Thranduil knew differently though. His husband felt things deeply, far deeper than most. So deep that if he wasn’t careful, Thranduil would lose him to it. Now was one of those times.

“Miranda wouldn’t appreciate you getting the kids sick,” he continued. Bard sighed and nodded his head.

“She wouldn’t. It’s just…”

Thranduil sighed, taking a step closer to his husband.

“I know. You don’t need to say any more.”

It was true. Bard didn’t need to speak with him. Thranduil knew the pain he was going through, better than anyone else. Losing a spouse was something few ever really recovered from, even when finding love again in another person. Neither Thranduil or Bard managed it, a special place in their souls still stinging from the loss.

“She loved dancing in the rain,” Bard softly spoke. Thranduil simply listened, even though it was story he heard a hundred times before and would hear a hundred times more. “Barefoot and without care. She ruined so many dresses that way.”

“Elizabeth preferred the snow. She liked taking walks in the evening through freshly covered fields, never saying a word.”

Bard nodded. Thranduil gently laced their fingers together, the warmth of his palm warning Bard’s.

Elizabeth and Miranda both died in June, just a week apart. Bard and Thranduil’s had been strangers at the time, but their mutual grief brought them together and made them stronger. Thranduil felt selfish for thinking it, but he was glad he met Bard. He loved him.

“Let’s go inside,” he spoke, tugging Bard along with him as he led him back to the house. “The kids will be home soon and you need to change before that.”

They walked together, the wide umbrella shielding them from the falling rain. The grief was still there, but it was a weight easier to bear with two rather than just one.


	8. *UPDATE*

Dear readers,

I'm sorry I missed uploading a story last night as well as today. Unfortunately, this will be the case until at least Monday. There has been a death in my family and funeral arrangements are currently being made. I will try to get back as soon as possible. Thank you for your patience and understanding.

Yours most sincerely,

Miss Wia

UPDATE: For the moment, this story is over. Maybe someday I'll add more, but for right now it holds too many hard memories for me to enjoy writing for it.

**Author's Note:**

> Have any ideas for future stories, pairings, AUs, etc.,? I take requests and read them all. Thanks for reading!


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